


Lost Innocence

by Typewriter_Daydreams



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Awkward Romance, Drama & Romance, Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pirates, Romance, Slow Romance, Tragic Romance, pirate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Typewriter_Daydreams/pseuds/Typewriter_Daydreams





	1. Chapter 1

The rope went taut with a  _twang_  then snapped like the crack of a whip. Shouts of warning rang out as a large crate tumbled down the side of Captain Azruk Bonechewer’s newly painted ship. He cringed as the wooden mass of splinters shifted like a pendulum across the starboard side of  _The Lost Innocence_.

The thin gauze of enchantment was beginning to fray around the edges and the captain started to wonder why he had agreed to this absurdity in the first place. His crew fluttered around the ship, squawking like disgruntled seagulls as they dragged box after box of precious cargo aboard. Intermittently Azruk caught a flash of a dark silhouette passing between the crew, but every time he tried to snag the shadow with his gaze, it would slip away like water through his fingers.

Dealing with drow was shifty business, even for a pirate. The dark elves stepped through shadows to evade detection. Their native tongue was a language of secrets. They spoke through a veil of lies and every deal they struck was tipped in their favor.

“Shifty business indeed,” Azruk grumbled as he rubbed his chin, the coarse dark stubble bristling against his fingers.

“Captain Bonechewer.”

Azruk turned around with a broad movement.

“Sangria. How… pleasant it is to see you,” he replied, the words tasting foul and unnatural in his mouth.

“Likewise, Captain.” Her words poured out in a beautifully silky tone that made his skull feel fuzzy. “Shall we go over the cargo manifest, hm?”

Azruk’s mouth twitched into a snarl around the small blunted fangs that protruded from his bottom lip.

“I would like nothing more,” he found himself saying.

Sangria flashed him an unearthly smile, pure white by the stark contrast of her luscious black lips. It was the smile of a shark approaching bloodied prey. She pulled a rolled up scroll of parchment from a hidden pocket within her robes. Unfurling it with a slight crinkle, she said, “Hm, good. The first item on the list: three parcels of exotic spices valued at fifteen hundred gold pieces, each. Insured for the full value. Second, twelve kilos of pressed and dried herbs. Total value: six thousand gold pieces, insured for the full value. Crates one, three, and seven contain an assortment of raw metals valued at thirteen hundred gold per kilo…”

Sangria’s enchanting voice slipped away from the forefront of Azruk’s thoughts. Her numbers meant nothing to him; he was no merchant, no lowly smuggler. He was Azruk Bonechewer- feared pirate captain of the north seas. The only numbers he cared about were his direct profits.

“… a symbol of Sehanine of undetermined value. Insured for nine thousand platinum.”

Azruk perked up at the mention of his goddess and the price her artifact carried. “Undetermined value? It sounds to me like you have a pretty damned good idea of what this thing’s worth.”

Sangria’s blood red eyes flashed up at him with a hint of irritation that colored her voice a shade darker. “Please, Captain Bonechewer. You do remember the terms of our agreement, hm? No questions asked. You were specifically sought out for this voyage because we were assured of your… discretion in this business.”

Curiosity peaked, Azruk listened intently to the rest of her list but nothing came close to the value of Sehanine’s relic.

“Now, as discussed we have included a sum of gold to pay for the transport of myself, a handful of help, and a  _valued_  guest.” The word slipped out like the hiss of a snake.

The enchantment was threadbare at that point in their conversation and Azruk was all but out of patience.

“I never agreed to carry a passenger other than you and your guards,” he fumed. “I’m not running some gods-be-damned ferry.”

Sangria blinked her long dark lashes slowly. “He is a  _guest_ , Captain,” she reiterated, her words tingling with magic.

Azruk stood, unconvinced, and replied, “He will pay his passage directly to me. Otherwise he’ll be swimming to Sassarine.”

“Hm, very well,” the drow replied without missing a beat. “The nature of his transport is not my concern. As long as he arrives in Sassarine my contract is complete. Any further transactions on his part must be taken up with my superiors. I will forward his down payment to your account.”

“You will give me his payment in full, in cold gold,” Azruk demanded.

Sangria paused a moment, licked the tip of her quill, and jotted down some unintelligible scribbles in a swirling elfish font. She then informed him, without a hint of emotion, “Our insurance policies prohibit full payment until arrival. You will get your gold, all of it, once we reach the port city of Sassarine. We are in agreement, hm?”

The half-orc’s lip curled with contempt but he couldn’t pass up the gold. After all, it was this contract that paid for the repairs to his ship, his crew’s salary, and added a nice weight to his coin purse.

“Very well,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height. Azruk rolled his thick shoulders. The tendons strained like rope as his neck popped thrice. He then shifted his hat back and strut forward, barking orders in his bellowing voice.

The crew scattered like roaches under a light, then quickly reformed in precise straight rows. Azruk smirked despite himself. Most of his men had been green when he hired them. For the first week they wobbled about without their sea legs and frequently vomited over the ship’s railing. Under Azruk’s strict direction and under the watchful eyes of his most trusted officers, the crew as a whole was exceeding his expectations.

However, the presence of the shifting drow on board had caused his tightly knit schedule to come undone. The work was sloppy. Things had gone missing. Accusations and fists flew. But the appearance of the captain on deck had everyone acting on their best behavior. Azruk walked the lines like a general sizing up the new recruits.

He scrutinized each and every face, his small amber eyes boring holes into the courage of his crew.

“Alright you filthy, pox-ridden hounds, get back to work! Get those crates and boxes aboard and be quick about it! We have a schedule to keep and I’ll be damned if one of you lives to see me late!”

The crew scattered, working double-time to hoist the crates and pack the boxes below deck. Azruk clapped his hands together and wiped the dust from his cracked palms. He glared as Sangria sauntered up the gangplank, hips swaying as easy as the breeze. She smiled at him before disappearing into her cabin.

The captain snarled to himself then turned to his first mate.

“How are we looking on time, Deadeye?”

Deadeye, the only drow that Azruk had ever learned to trust, cocked his head slightly and said in a clipped voice muffled by the scarf and hood he wore around his face, “We are on schedule, sir.”

“Good, good. I expect to leave port by noon.”


	2. Chapter 2

The sun rose as a blister in the otherwise spotless sky. A thin breeze had whisked the morning clouds away and left a clean blue slate. Standing on the desk of his freshly washed ship, Azruk inhaled the salty sweat of the sea deeply into his blunt nose. He loved the ocean. The sea was always moving, shifting, changing. He respected and admired the sea’s ferocity and strength, as well as its ability to provide and nurture. In a strange way, it reminded him of his mother.

Azruk grimaced at the memory and pushed it from his mind. He turned his attention instead to the horizon.

It was a deceptively easy cruise up the coast. The northern seas were known for their fickle nature. The currents brought down from the icy north gave the waters a deathly cold tinge. Jagged rocks sat in wait like the treacherous teeth of a hungry wyrm hidden just under the surface.

Azruk was well acquainted with these waters and steered his ship clear of the hidden dangers. By his calculations it would take four days to reach the port city of Sassarine. Four days until he could claim his reward and leave the drow to their business ashore. Lucky for him, Sangria had spent the majority of the day locked in her stateroom fighting off the seasickness. A smirk cut across his rugged face as he heard her retching down below.

With Sangria fully distracted, Azruk figured this was as good a time as any to check on the cargo. He tugged to loosen the red handkerchief tied around his neck and stomped downstairs. His heavy boots caused the old wood to groan under his weight.

A few wayward sailors struggled out of his way and pressed themselves against the walls of the narrow corridor to let him pass. The ragged epaulets on the captain’s broad shoulders just barely skimmed their noses as they tipped their hats to him in respect.

Azruk acknowledged them with a curt nod. He squeezed through the doorway and made his way down to the hold. Shoving his meaty hand into his pocket, the captain made a fist around his key-ring to keep the metal from jingling. The tarnished metal, warm from its stay in Azruk’s coat pocket, slid easily and silently into the keyhole. With a turn and a click he was in.

“Captain Bonechewer, I presume?” spoke a high and nasally voice from behind.

Azruk grimaced visibly and turned around. He was about to spit a slew of insults at the interloper but he stopped short when he caught sight of the speaker.

He was a thin man, neither tall nor short; unremarkable in a remarkable way. His small, but pointed ears marked him as a half-elf. Azruk hated him instantly.

“And you are…?” the captain asked, his voice a low and rumbling snarl.

“Meavoi, at your service,” he said, ever so subtly stepping between Azruk and the door.

“Take your services elsewhere,” Azruk growled as he shouldered his way past the smaller man.

Meavoi shimmered for a moment and in a flash he appeared two feet in front of Azruk, blocking his path yet again.

“I am an honored  _guest_ of Sangria!” he announced indignantly.

Frustrated, and in no mood for games, Azruk pushed him aside with a forceful shove that sent the half-elf sprawling. “I don’t give a damn who you think you are. This is  _my_  ship and you will obey  _my_  rules.”

From the floor Meavoi shouted in a voice rising high with indignation and panic, “Captain, wait! What is it you are looking for down here? Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

Azruk turned his gaze to the half-elf and replied, “I am here to check on the cargo. Something’s not adding up.”

Meavoi teleported again to block Azruk, but this time he put some space between the two of them. “Your contract… No questions…” Meavoi tried to remind Azruk.

“I’m not asking question _, honored guest_ ,” he spat, eyeing him up and down. Azruk jabbed Meavoi in the stomach with a dull, clawed finger. “You don’t look like a drow associate. You’re too squishy to be their muscle. Too stupid to be a business partner. What’s your gain here? Why are you on my ship? What are you hiding?” With each question the captain drew himself up taller and straighter until he dwarfed the diminutive half-elf. “If I am carrying something worth upwards of a couple  _thousand_ platinum, from the church of Sehanine no less, it’s either a weapon or something liable to get my crew killed.”

Meavoi chewed his lip, his nerves fraying like the ends of old rope. “You won’t-”

“Either way,” Azruk continued, cutting him off with a chuckle, “Maybe I should dump you and the rest of your cave dwelling associates overboard and keep this blessing from Sehanine for myself.”

Finally Meavoi warned, “You won’t find what it is you think you’re looking for. The drow are powerful enemies that you do not want to set against you.”

Azruk let out a roaring laugh loud enough to deafen a lion.

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he replied.

Meavoi was powerless to stop the captain as he proceeded down the aisles of the carefully stacked boxes and crates. Most of the crate were nailed shut and sealed with a spell. A few however, yielded to Azruk’s prying. He was disgusted to find that the ‘herbs and spices’ listed on the roster were of the hallucinatory variety.

He grumbled something about, “Filthy drug-addicted bottom-dwellers,” and slammed the crate shut. It was then that he heard a small noise that lead him around the corner of a particularly high stack of boxes.

Sitting in the corner was a small female figure. Azruk, dumbstruck for a moment, grew quiet. The tiefling looked up at him, her golden eyes darting up to his face and holding his gaze with a fiery defiance. She had two curving horns and a long tail that curled around her body protectively. A mess of shortly cropped white hair framed her dirty face. Azruk noticed the glowing runes on her cheeks and the cloth tied around her mouth. 

Regaining his composure, the captain's face split into a devious smirk and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He spoke in a voice loud enough to startle the girl and reach Meavoi on the other side of the barricade of crates. Not taking his eyes off the tiefling, he said, “Meavoi, you coy bastard. Is this what you were trying to hide? Such a dog, smuggling a little lady aboard. You know what we do with stowaways, don’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

As the captain reached for the stowaway, she let out a muffled yelp and a flash like lightning lit up the room. Azruk was blinded for just a moment as spots danced in his vision. The little tiefling blinked at him wide-eyed and fearful, looking just as startled as he was.

Before he could act, Sangria’s sharp voice cut through the air like a knife in the dark and drew the attention of everyone in the room. Although she spoke with a level and calm tone, there was a clear undercurrent of biting anger.

“Captain Bonechewer, whatever are you doing down in the hold? Don’t you have a ship to run, a crew to tend to, hm?”

“That’s precisely what I am doing down here, Sangria,” he growled back. “You have deceived me, miss. You’ve brought drugs aboard my ship and endangered my crew. And that’s something I don’t take kindly to.”

“I assure you, Captain Bonechewer. There is no danger to you or your crew, so long as our contract is upheld.”

“Don’t speak to me about contracts,” he snapped. “You brought an undocumented passenger aboard. I thought I made it clear that I am not running some gods-be-damned ferry service!”

“Please, Captain. There is no need to raise your voice, hm? I assure you, her presence is documented. Now, if you would like to review the terms and conditions of our agreement, perhaps we can do so in quiet and… privacy,” she said with a quick glance to Meavoi.

Azruk scratched the coarse stubble that turned his skin to sandpaper. “Very well,” he agreed after a moment’s thought. Turning to the tiefling he said in a low voice, “I’ll be back for you.”

Sangria sauntered out, clicking her long red nails against the wood of the door-frame as she waited for Azruk and Meavoi. Hesitantly, Meavoi hung back until Azruk bellowed, “Meow-meow, get out. NOW.”

“Hm,” Sangria twittered to herself as she led Azruk to her cabin.

He squeezed in behind her and shut the door before Meavoi could follow.

“I’m afraid dear Meavoi’s is somewhat affectionately inclined towards the young woman,” she sighed and held up her hands helplessly, her soft posture a stark contrast to her dangerously sharp red gaze. “I suppose it cannot be helped. Half-breeds are sentimental by nature. Their human blood makes them weak, makes them soft. But of course, you understand that. Don’t you, captain?”

The tendons in Azruk’s neck strained as he grit his teeth against the accusation.

“Watch your tongue,” he warned.

Sangria batted her long lashes, her pouted lips just slightly agape. “Have I said something to offend you? Azruk, you are such an angry man. Maybe what you need is to relax, hm? You could do with some tenderness in your life.”

She touched his arm, brushing her fingers lightly across the patch of skin exposed between Azruk’s sleeve and the top of his glove. He flinched away from her touch, pulling his arm back with such force that it nearly knocked Sangria off balance.

“Don’t touch me, siren,” he hissed. “I fell for your trap once, but you will not fool me again with such a simple ploy.”

The drowess looked more irritated than offended. “What do you want then?”

“I want to know why the manifest you provided me is inaccurate. Are narcotics and the captive tiefling the only things you’ve hidden aboard my ship?”

Sangria picked at her long red fingernails, examining them briefly by the dim light streaking in through the drawn curtains.

“Azruk,” she said after a moment’s pause. “May I speak frankly here?”

“You can if you address me with all due respect.”

Her teeth, white as maggots in rotting wood, flashed as her lips cut into a sharp smile.

“Captain,” she corrected immediately. “You know as well as I do what the nature of this business is. My associates and I require certain precautions when treading lightly around the law. Words can be manipulated, the perception of their meaning changed. I have not lied to you. Not once. But neither have I been transparent. The manifest will pass customs and the port authorities. So let’s not worry about that, hm?”

Azruk pinched the bridge of his wide nose, his brow furrowed. “You try my patience,” he growled. “Regardless, the voyage to Sassarine will take us four more days at the least. You cannot keep the girl locked down there for so long.”

“Very well, Captain. Do what you think is best. So long as she reaches Sassarine with the rest of the cargo, her living arrangements are of little concern to me.”

Azruk bristled visibly and for a moment a string of strong words hung on the tip of his tongue. But the ship rolled over a turbulent patch of sea and Sangria’s dark face grew ashen. Her calm composure cracked and she ran to the window to spew out that morning’s breakfast.

Smirking quietly to himself, Azruk turned on his heels and trotted back down to the hold. Meavoi jumped up when he saw the captain lumbering towards him.

“Captain, wait! I think maybe I-”

Azruk grabbed Meavoi by the face as he cut in front of the captain’s path. He slammed the half-elf against the wall, smashing the heel of his palm up against Meavoi’s nose.

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Azruk said loudly as Meavoi fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of weeping blood.

He barged into the hold and stuffed the keys back into his pocket. The tiefling was still huddled in the corner, her wide eyes peering at him from behind a curtain of unruly hair.

“So,” Azruk said, his booming voice filling the hull. “You’re not a stowaway after all. But that begs the question, what  _are_ you doing on my ship?”

Without waiting for a reply, Azruk grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and hoisted her out of the corner. She whimpered with a combination of fright and surprise, but she didn’t struggle against his grasp. Azruk pulled her from the hold, carrying her like a kitten. He kicked the door shut behind him, the heavy wood rattling on its old hinges.

“Bug!” Azruk roared. “BUGGUTS!”

A moment later a small goblin with large batty ears appeared. He was dressed in plain clothes, stained with sweat. His shortly cropped dark hair stuck up in all directions, as if he had recently been hit by lightning. His large pale eyes were as bulbous as his nose.

Bugguts blinked curiously at the tiefling hanging in Azruk’s strong hold. When he spoke his blubbery lips quivered. “Yes, Captain, sir?”

“Take Meow-meow here down to the Krug nest,” Azruk ordered with a nod at Meavoi.

Quizzically pulling his gaze away from the girl, Bugguts replied with a voice tinged with wicked excitement, “Right away sir. Oh, Krug will have fun with this one.”

Bugguts eagerly gripped the back of Meavoi’s shirt and heaved him up onto his shoulder. Meavoi’s dazed and limp body hung awkwardly as Bugguts dragged him down into the dark and foul bowels of the ship. 

Satisfied that Meavoi was finally out of his way, Azruk carried the captive tiefling to his stateroom and threw her unceremoniously onto the bed. She scrambled into a sitting position, hugging her knees tightly to her chest and coiling her tail protectively around her ankles.

Azruk stood a few feet away, one hand resting on his hip, the other poised by his mouth as he gave her a scrutinizing look. She was young, somewhere in her early twenties he’d guess. She was scrawny and underfed. Her slender neck didn’t look like it should be able to support the weight of the two long horns that curled outward from the sides of her head. Azruk noted that her left horn was cracked with a large gash near the base, dangerously close to her skull. Her white hair floated like a halo around her face. It was cropped short and ragged, as if someone had recently cut it with a knife.

The little shift she wore was frayed and torn. It seemed to have lost a good deal of its length over the years. Azruk found his gaze wandering down the bare skin of her thigh, resting just a moment at the dark shadows under the cloth. Pulling his eyes up to her face he said, “I’m going to take the gag off. Don’t scream and don’t cry,” he warned. “No one will come to help if you scream. My crew will assume I am having my way with you. You don’t want them to think of you as a victim. It’s a very dangerous situation to be in. Understand?”

She nodded slowly.

“Good.”

As he untied the cloth that bound her mouth tightly shut, Azruk could feel her tense.

“What’s your name?” he asked, tossing the rag aside.

“Luna,” she said in a voice barely a whisper.

“Speak up,” he commanded.

“Luna Zhiri,” she said a little louder. Her golden eyes skipped up to meet his gaze through her veil of hair.

“My name is Captain Azruk Bonechewer. I am in command of this ship. Do you know where we are heading, Miss Zhiri?”

Zhiri tucked a lock of hair behind her velvety doe ear and glanced quickly and awkwardly around the room. She shifted her weight slightly and unwound her tail before replying, “No.”

Hidden underneath her hair were stark white markings streaking down her face like coiling calligraphic tendrils. Azruk bristled when he saw them. They marked both cheeks and her forehead, contouring her facial structure in an almost beautifully destructive way.

His voice grew low as he asked, “What are those markings on your face?” 

Zhiri blushed softly and touched a thin hand to her cheek. Letting her hair slip from behind her ear, she said quietly, “Slave tattoos.”

He reached towards her face. Instinctively she drew back with a breathy hiss.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

The captain reached forward again, slower. This time Zhiri didn’t flinch away. Azruk brushed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her two spiraling horns. Gently, he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face to look at him.

Her eyes were wide, distressed, and frantically searching his, but Azruk’s focus was elsewhere. The white patterns framing her face seemed to glow at his touch and pulse with a faint radiance reminiscent of moonlight.

“Where are you from, Ms. Zhiri?”

“The Underdark, sir.”

“And before that?”

“Only the Underdark. I was born there.”

“And what is it you did there?”

She swallowed and replied, “As a child I was a pearl hunter but later on I was put to work a serving girl to the patrons of the fighting pits.”

His mouth flattened into a thin line as he traced the scabs cut at the corners of her lips.

“Who holds your papers now?”

“Nerok Goldleaf, sir.”

“Nerok is your…?”

Zhiri nodded meekly, sadly.

Azruk stepped away from her. He turned his back to the tiefling and rubbed his chin in thought. Nerok was a well known and wealthy merchant living in Sassarine. Azruk had no doubt that he belonged to the same house as the drow who crawled through his ship like roaches. Turning back around, he said to Zhiri, “I do not approve of slavery. So long as you are on my ship you will be treated as a free woman. You may go where you please and do what you will. But as soon as we make port and you step on shore, I can no longer guarantee your safety.”

Zhiri looked up at him with a mixture of wonder and disbelief sparkling in her eyes. She gave him a genuine smile and breathed, “Thank you, Captain Azruk.”

He couldn’t help but let a quick smirk run across his face.

“I do hope you’ll return my letter opener. Perhaps once you trust that I will keep you safe. Come, little Miss Zhiri. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

Zhiri blushed, her tail coiling tighter around the bladed letter opener that she thought she had hidden away so stealthily. She took Azruk’s extended hand. He pulled her up off the bed, his large fingers engulfing her entire palm. Azruk brought her to the door, opened it, then yelled for Bugguts. The diminutive little man dragged himself lethargically from around the corner.

“Yes, Cap’n?” he asked dully.

“Take Miss Zhiri to Raurief. Get her cleaned up and fed. I have some business to attend to elsewhere.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

The galley door was an impressively imposing sight. It was a battle-scarred block of wood that seemed to seep darkness from underneath. Bugguts shuffled his flat feet uneasily and gripped Zhiri’s hand a little tighter. He rapped a grape-colored knuckle against the splintering wood. The door swung outwards slightly, groaning with a long drawn-out squeal.

“Raurief?”croaked Bugguts. ”The cap’n has orders for ya.”

There was no reply from inside, but Bugguts insisted that Zhiri enter. Hesitantly, she stepped forward and pulled the door the rest of the way open. A sword jammed into the floorboards blocked the entrance, its guard almost as wide as the doorframe. The blade came up to Zhiri’s collarbone, the hilt extending past her horns. The blade looked like a slab of dark metal cut crudely and honed to a razors edge. In the dim light the sword almost seemed to shimmer like melting ice.

Behind the sword the room was completely shrouded in darkness. Even the light from the hallway didn’t permeate the shadows.

“Hello?” Zhiri called softly. She stepped forward, peering around the weapon and into the wall of gloom. Unable to squeeze by, she tentatively placed her hands on the hilt of the sword.

She was startled by a sudden surge of energy that crackled through her bones like electricity. A loud and intrusive voice filled her mind.

“HALT! Who goes there!?” it screamed in a distinctly male voice.

“Ah!” Zhiri shrieked, letting go of the blade. “It talked to me!”

Bugguts nodded solemnly and encouraged her to try again.

“Okay...” Zhiri whispered, and grasped the hilt firmly with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” said the voice. It was quieter this time, less intrusive and more like a gentle whisper in her skull. She could feel some sort of magic prodding her mind, shuffling through her thoughts and memories like flipping through a book.

After a beat of silence she replied, “I’ve... um, never met a talking sword before. Do you have a name?”

“My name? Oh! My name! Yes..." it said in a scattered voice. "It’s… it’s… I do have a name. I promise I do. It’s a good and manly name. Very heroic. I just can’t quiet seem to remember…”

“Are you Raurief?” Zhiri prompted gently.

“Raurief,” it sighed. “Let the heavens speak her name for a thousand years to come, let the choirs sing of her beauty!” With a sudden change of tone is snapped, “She is a thief! A snake-skinned wench!” The change caught Zhiri by surprise, but as soon as the anger rose in its voice, it dissipated and died back down to a dreamy babble. “Oh she has stolen my heart and held it ransom for years.”

“Um,” Zhiri interrupted. “I was sent here by the captain to speak to Raurief. Is she in?”

“Ah, of course of course, we can’t keep the captain waiting now can we? Tell Raurief I said I love her. Go on, tell her for me.”

“What? I-”

“Tell her Baroen loves her,” the sword replied irritably. "She'll understand."

Peering sightlessly into the darkness, Zhiri called out, “Erm, Raurief? Baroen says it... he? He loves you..."

Bugguts snickered behind her but his laughter was silenced immediately as a scaled hand as pale as the moon parted the darkness and grabbed the sword. The blade was withdrawn and Bugguts pushed Zhiri into the open doorway.

Even Zhiri’s keen eyes, well adjusted to the darkness after years living in the Underdark, could not permeate the shadows of the galley. They swirled around her like misty living creatures, coiling around her legs and tail and caressing her face with feathery soft touches.

Like a breath of air blowing away smoke, the darkness receded slowly, drawing itself up and around the sword. A silhouette formed in the shadows, a tall horned dragonborn with a ruffled mane and whip-like tail.

“You are this Luna Zhiri I hear of?” the figure asked, her voice slithering out from behind a row of razor fangs.

“Yes, ma’am. Pardon me for asking, but how did you know?”

“My blade has told me,” she replied as the last of the darkness fizzled away. Her voice was deep and heavily accented with a dialect Zhiri could not immediately place.

Raurief’s eyes were a kaleidoscope of sunset colors bisected by her slitted pupils. Her scaled skin was as white as sea foam. She had a long mane of soft tresses that tumbled down her back. Her tail ended with a thick tangle of fluff at the tip. Six horns framed her draconic face. They were smooth and straight, unlike Zhiri’s ridged and curing horns.

“This one is very protecting,” the dragonborn continued. “No one will be coming in here that Baroen doesn’t approve.”

“I am glad to have met with approval then.”

Raurief drew closer, her tall and lean body moving with serpentine fluidity. Circling Zhiri, she dragged the heavy blade behind her like a child’s toy. She replaced the sword at the galley’s entrance, then pulled the door closed with no regard for Bugguts still standing in the way.

The heavy wood thumped him on the head and knocked him off his feet. The goblin could be heard swearing as he sulked away down the hall.

“Baroen tells me you are hailing from the Underdark. Born slave there.”

Zhiri lowered her eyes to the scuffed up floor covered in sand and old blood.

“Yes, I um… I was orphaned at a young age and sent to work as a pearl diver with the other children. They told me I was abandoned by my mother. But I don’t know. I find it hard to believe that she would have left me there to suffer such a cruel fate.”

“No shame,” Raurief said in as gentle a tone as her gruff voice could muster. “I am orphan too. One does not choose their birth. Besides, sword tells me Azruk is promising you freedom and this gives you great hope.”

“Oh!” Zhiri exclaimed popping her head up. “Yes, but it’s only until we get to port.”

“That’s very few days from here.”

“It’s more than anyone has ever given me,” Zhiri sighed with a sad smile.

Raurief trotted over to a collapsed cabinet in the corner. She viciously ripped the door off its hinges and pulled out a large metal tub. It was old, rusted, and dented, but after some tampering Raurief was able to punch it back into shape.

“Undress,” Raurief commanded as she began to vigorously work the water pump. Her slender arms, corded with muscle, worked tirelessly to fill the tub.

Zhiri let the straps of her modest dress slide down her shoulders. The shift slipped down her lithe body, pooling in a heap on the floor. She covered her small chest with her hands and wrapped her tail around her middle. The brisk ocean air stirred around her bare body, drawing the goose bumps from her flesh. Raurief pointed one long clawed finger at the tub and Zhiri stepped obediently in. She sucked in a gasp of air as her tender skin touched the icy chill of the ocean water.

“Recent?” Raurief asked, trailing a long talon down Zhiri’s spine, counting off the scars one by one.

“N-no,” Zhiri replied, her voice small and wavering with the cold.

“And this?” Raurief asked, pressing her cold palm to Zhiri’s bruised side.

Hissing through her teeth, Zhiri replied, “Recent.”

Raurief poked, prodded, and squeezed Zhiri in the most uncomfortable of ways before deciding, “Your ribs are having been cracked, and your wrist fractured. I have reason to be thinking you are suffering broken arm that never was healed right. You are lucky, it does not require amputation. Open.”

Zhiri did as she was instructed while Raurief peered inside her mouth. 

"Teeth be good," she decided.

The dragonborn took Zhiri’s face in her hands and gazed so intently into her eyes that it made Zhiri blush.

“For being so long in Underdark your eyes are remarkably well adjust to day’s light.”

“Mr. Goldleaf made sure I got all the proper vaccinations and enchantments to make the transition top-side easier.”

“Hm. I see. You are looking half-starved,” Raurief remarked bluntly.

“I am a little hungry,” Zhiri admitted.

The dragonborn’s long face split into a sharp smile. “Good. Eat this.”

Zhiri reached out and caught the smelly fruit that Raurief tossed her. Biting into it, the juices dribbled down her chin, leaving long running stains like blood. The fruit was sour at first, but the flavor slowly melded into a sweet tang. After eating the fruit Zhiri found her pain subsiding, her body relaxing, and her worries drifting away. At least until Raurief began the vigorous process of cleaning the caked dirt from Zhiri’s ashy skin.

She used a hard bristle brush to relentlessly scrape the grime and skin from Zhiri’s back, shoulders, and arms. The fruit helped dull the sting, and when Zhiri stepped from the tub, pink and raw, she felt revitalized.

“Alright, come out of there. I get you fixed up right nice,” Raurief twittered in her gruff and gravelly voice.

She tossed the old bathwater out the porthole and refilled the tub halfway from her supply of precious freshwater. She used her native dragon-breath to heat the water to an amiable temperature, pausing only to toss in a handful of herbs and salts until the bath smelled like a soup.

“In with you,” she commanded once more, and Zhiri obeyed. Stepping into the bath was like stepping into a pool of liquid silk. The warm water soothed her aching muscles, the herbal concoction working to heal the old wounds. Zhiri sighed contentedly, closed her eyes, and let the warm water engulf her.


	5. Chapter 5

Zhiri awoke with a start to the captain tearing open the door. He roared incoherently at Raurief who snarled back in her serpentine tongue. Behind him stood Sangria, trying desperately to peer around Azruk’s wide frame.

“What the blazes did I tell you about cooking people?!” he stopped short when he noticed Zhiri peering at him wide-eyed and bashful. His gaze was magnetically drawn to the gentle swell of her breast, the slender line of her waist, and the elegant curve of her hip. She shifted in the tub to cover herself while Raurief took advantage of the momentary distraction and ushered both Azruk and Sangria out of the room.

“I am not forgetting!” she hissed at them as she pulled the door shut. Turning back to Zhiri she said, “Let us find you some clothings.”

"What was that all about?" Zhiri asked as she stepped from the cold bath water and wrapped herself up in a towel.

"It is nothing! No-thing! Azruk crew some times be thinking I carry traditions of my peoples."

"Cooking people?" Zhiri asked hesitantly.

"Is old tradition, old and no more."

Digging through a bin of old wash rags, Raurief pulled out a small stripped shirt and held it up for Zhiri’s inspection. Zhiri took it and wiggled her arms into the sleeves, but her horns prevented her from slipping the garment over her head. She flailed for a moment before gouging a seam with her horn and tearing the pitiful shirt to shreds.

Raurief watched with an amused smile, tapped her own horns in a knowing way, and said, “You wait here. I fetch you something better. Baroen keep others out.”

As her tail whipped down the hall, the room began to dim. Darkness burbled down from the sword like a black fog, cloaking the galley in shadow. Zhiri sat alone, peering sightlessly into the void, bitterly reminded of the loneliness of the Underdark.

It wasn’t long before Raurief returned. The plume of darkness instantly receded as she brushed her long talons over the sword. She held out a large white shirt victoriously. The wide neck fit easily over Zhiri’s horns and Raurief helped her tie the collar together at the shoulders to prevent it from slipping off her small frame. Using one of her kitchen knives, Raurief trimmed the sleeves down and tied them off at the ends.

“There now, you are being respectable.”

“Uh, are you sure? It still feels a little… breezy,” Zhiri replied with an awkward titter.

Raurief threw her head back and whooped heartily, the laughter rolling from her throat like thunder. Her lips curled back, revealing purple gums and a purple tongue.

“I bring these as well,” she said after her laughter subsided.

Zhiri slipped on the pants Raurief handed her, laced up the leather bodice, and cinched the belt around her petite waist.

“I feel much better now. Thank you, Raurief.”

“Come, we will be finding Azruk now.”

To Zhiri the ship looked like a tangled web of ropes with deckhands crawling up and down like spiders. She watched in awe as they worked together in chaotic unison, shouting back and forth in a language known only to sailors. She craned her neck to watch them scale the rigging, twisting to follow their movements. As she turned, she bumped head first into the captain standing behind her.

Zhiri took a step back and stammered an apology.

“Captain,” she said quietly, bringing her hand to her brow the way she’d seen others do.

His lips bent into a dangerous smile, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his throat.

“Ah, so there’s where my best shirt went. I should have known Cookie was up to something.” Zhiri flinched as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s alright, little Miss Zhiri. It looks better on you anyway.”

He moved past her to address Raurief directly. Leaning in close, he whispered something to her that Zhiri couldn’t quite hear. Raurief glanced over at her for a brief moment before replying, “Everything fine.”

“Good, good. Keep an eye on her, Cookie.”

“Cookie?” Zhiri questioned after Azruk had left.

“An affectionate name having been coined by the captain as a youngling.”

“Oh,” Zhiri twittered, imagining the captain as a small child. “I didn’t realize that you two had known each other for so long.”

“Aye. I sailed under his mother’s flag thirty so years past. She was such woman. Dead now though. Much pity I feel for this.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Raurief waved her hand as if to dismiss the though.

“It is nothing, it is nothing. How would you like to help with the dinner preparings? Or maybe you would rather be introducing to the crew? That one there, in the black scarf and covered face, he is called Malkazir and is second to the captain. Leave him be. He is of a bad temper and none-too talkative anyway. Large one at the bow is Illikan. He is keeper of repairs and such.”

A goblin scurried past them, a long rope in hand.

“That’s Bugguts, right?” Zhiri asked. “I met him shortly after the captain.”

“Yes, he is the keeper of the Krug.”

“What’s a Krug?”

“Krug is beastie who lives in the bilge.”

“Is that where…” she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Is that where Meavoi was taken? Captain Azruk sent him to the Krug nest.”

“Ah,” Raurief nodded knowingly. “It is worse punishment than the lashings.”

“Captain Azruk whips his crew?” Zhiri asked worriedly.

“He’d whip anyone who displeased him were he to have such authority on land. Oh the oceans, however, I believe him to be fair judge of wrong doings.”

Zhiri wrapped her tail around her waist and glanced at the captain barking orders on the far side of the ship. He was a large man made all the more fearsome by the volume of his voice and the ferocity of his spirit.

“Is the captain a kind man?” she asked after a moment of quiet contemplation.

“Hm?”

“Is Captain Azruk a good man? Is he… gentle?”

“A pirate captain does what he must to be maintaining order.”

“Pirate?” Zhiri chirped in surprise. “Here I thought this was a merchant vessel. But... I suppose that makes sense.”

“Why you are asking these things?” Raurief wondered.

“I don’t want to upset the captain,” she said, wringing her hands and not taking her eyes off of Azruk. “I don’t want him to…”

Raurief snorted loudly. “He would not be to touch you in a threatening manner. Not if he has given his word of protecting. I will be seeing to it that the crew follows suit.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Zhiri smiled and wove her fingers together, asking, “Do you think I can see the Krug?”

“You are wanting to see the beast? He takes no orders. Not well at least. For this request I may not guarantee no harm comes to you. But I will try. Come, let us visit.”

Zhiri followed Raurief down into the dark underbelly of the ship. The wood gave off a musty smell that reminded her of the cave systems of the Underdark. The structure groaned like a beast in pain. Zhiri lightly pressed her fingers to the curving wood, feeling the age and experience of the ship. It was a well traveled vessel. The scars of old battles ran deep.

Eventually the light from above faded. Raurief drew her arm around Zhiri’s shoulders and guided her through the darkness. The cavernous hall opened like a gullet into the belly of the ship. A foul smell, like rotting flesh, oozed up from the other side of a large hanging flap.

Raurief pulled the old sailcloth aside and ushered Zhiri in.

“He doesn’t like light,” Raurief explained. “Or sudden movement and loud noise-makings.”

Raurief’s long cold fingers intertwined with Zhiri’s. She guided her hand through the darkness, placing Zhiri’s palm on the snout of an enormous, reptilian creature.

Zhiri’s first instinct was to draw her hand back fearfully, but Raurief’s firm grasp kept her hand gently pressed against the scaled creature. She heard its nostrils flare and quiver. Hot, rancid breath hit her face and made her cringe.

“What is it?” Zhiri asked softly.

“Dragonborn, like me,” Raurief replied with affectionate spite.

“Hello, Krug,” she whispered.

Raurief released Zhiri’s hand.

Free to move, Zhiri ran her palm slowly down Krug’s nose until she reached the enormous blunt teeth that jut from his jaw at odd angles. The fangs were as long as her forearm and as just as wide. Swallowing her apprehension, Zhiri moved her hand up, following the ridge of small scales that pebbled his skin. She brushed against a large horn sprouting from his snout. It rose up and up, farther than she could reach.

“He’s gigantic,” she breathed.

“Yes,” Raurief confirmed. “It is unusual for our kind to be growing so large. I expect he has primal blood within.”

“But to be this size... that would make him several hundred years old,” Zhiri murmured in wonder.

“Ah, you are knowing dragon history? Perhaps his is spawned from some creature of the deep. I know not and he will not speak to tell me. He likes you, this I can tell.”

Smiling, Zhiri replied, “I am glad. I just wish…” her tone changed, echoing the sadness within her heart. “I wish I could keep these friends.”

“Ah, friends are not as easily lost as you are to be thinking.”

Krug shifted suddenly, pulling his nose away from the two women and leveling his gaze on them. Zhiri couldn’t see his blue eye examining her in the dark, but she felt his stare as strongly on her face as a physical touch.

“We must go,” Raurief announced. “He is leaving.”

When Krug moved, the entire ship shifted with his weight. His heavy claws rattled and scraped against the wood. He moved like a crocodile- slow, ambling, and snaking. Raurief pulled Zhiri aside as Krug swept by, dragging his long crocodilian tail behind him.

Zhiri and Raurief followed a safe distance behind him as he lumbered up the stairs and pushed his way past the hanging cloth. The walls of the passageway were scrapped and scratched from Krug’s scaled sides.

He emerged on deck, his small beady eyes blinking in the late afternoon sun. Bugguts ran over to the large creature, no bigger to Krug than a kitten was to Zhiri. He pulled out the splinters sticking between Krug’s yellowed scales. Krug seemed to ignore the diminutive goblin and ambled over to the side of the ship as Bugguts trotted behind him.

Shouts rang out as the ship tilted slightly the port side. Krug leaned over the railing, examining the waters below with his small blue eyes. Snorting, he turned around in a slow, wide arch.

Just then two little boys cut between Raurief and Zhiri, laughing and pulling at each other’s hair. They paused a moment to gawk at the stranger, then raced away, giggling manically.

“I didn’t realize there were children aboard,” Zhiri remarked.

“Willy and Wesley- cabin boys,” Raurief explained. “Taken on after their parents were having been killed.”

“Well that was certainly kind of the captain.”

“He’s the one that do the killing.”

“Oh! I, uh…hm.”

She watched the two boys scale the rigging like a pair of monkeys.

“They certainly show no fear.”

“One cannot show fear on ocean, or it swallow you up. Survival only for the being strong.”

“I see,” muttered Zhiri thoughtfully. She sighed as she glanced across the clear sea to the peninsula looming on the horizon.

“What is the sighing for?” Raurief asked attentively.

“I’m just… I would like to enjoy my time here while I can. While I still have the semblance of freedom. May I… climb the rigging too, please, Raurief?”

“Such formality,” Raurief said with a wave of her hand. “I am liking you enough that you may call me Cookie. Malkazir has just gone up in crow’s nest. Go say hi to him from me, then be telling him to get his ass down here.”

Zhiri’s gave her a small and timid smile. She grabbed the rigging and hoisted herself up. The ropes felt foreign beneath her bare feet. The hemp was rough underfoot and gave her something to cling to. Slowly, she reached up for the next rung, carefully placing her feet, then checking her height a moment later.

Gaining some speed, Zhiri began to place her hands and feet with more confidence, pulling herself higher and higher until she reached the top. She checked her height again, a giddy feeling twisting her stomach into knots.

She popped her head up into the crow’s nest. Malkazir turned and glanced down at her, his face a dark void of impenetrable shadows.

“Uh… Cookie told me to ask you to come down and see her.”

“Did she now?” he asked.

Zhiri nodded, then replied, “Yes.”

Malkazir reached down and gave her a hand, pulling her up into the stability of the nest.

“You can see Sassarine from here. Just barely,” she remarked.

“Perhaps you can.”

They stood for a moment in silence. Then Malkazir said, “I’m heading back down. You’d better follow. The climb down is harder than the climb up.”

Zhiri took his seasoned advice and followed him nimbly down the rigging. Her spirits were high and her heart felt as if it had flown around the world and back. This small taste of freedom had her hungry for more.


	6. Chapter 6

The crew was wild with hunger. They shouted jokes and obscenities across the table and played darts with the forks and knives. Eager to calm the ravenous crowd, Raurief dragged an enormous pail of soup into the corridor that served as the mess hall.

The captain sat at the end of the table, feet up and arms folded behind his head. His gaze caught Zhiri’s eye for a moment, but she turned away quickly and began to pass out sweet cakes, one to each crewmen.

“Captain,” she said, lowering her eyes and presenting him with the pastry.

“Ah,” Azruk purred. “What a treat.”

His fingers brushed up against her hand so softly as to seem almost unintentional. Zhiri giggled nervously and dropped the cake in his palm, moving on to serve the next person.

Azruk continued to scratch his chin, thinking idly that he should shave, but his daydream was broken by a quick movement. Zhiri hissed as a hand reached out and pinched her. Half the room burst into laughter as the offending man snaked his arm around Zhiri’s waist and slurred, “Give us a kiss, pretty girl!”

Zhiri squirmed and wiggled free of his grasp while the rest of the crew jeered and taunted. Azruk rose, Raurief snarled, and Zhiri stabbed the offending sailor in the hand with a letter opener coiled in her tail.

The man cried out and let go, a thin river of blood sliding through his knuckles.

“Wicked little harpy!” he howled, grasping his impaled hand.

Zhiri took a step back, using her tray as a barrier to shield her. The crew’s laughter bombarded her worse than a raid of physical blows.

“Enough,” Azruk said, his deep voice filling the small space with little effort.

The room fell silent at his words. Even Raurief, poised to pounce, relaxed her posture.

“Mr. Merdan,” Azruk began, his voice deceptively soft. “You seem to have misplaced my letter opener.” He walked over with an easy gait, nibbling on his sweet cake.

Through gritted teeth Merdan hissed, “My hand...”

“Perhaps you should get that looked at,” the captain remarked casually. “Cookie? Would you mind?”

Perking up, Raurief replied, “Looks to require amputation. I have just the tool.”

Merdan paled.

Azruk laughed.

The rest of the crew, broken from their trance, joined in heartily while Merdan sulked and nursed his wound. Zhiri, using the noise and distraction as cover, slipped out into the night unnoticed.

The rusted bronze bell  _tinged_  slightly as the pendulum swung with the rocking of the ship. The sails fluffed and deflated in the wind, like giant lungs breathing in the salty air. A smiling moon rose just above the horizon and stars speckled the sky like scattered snow.

Zhiri peered up at the sky curiously. The darkness of night was warm and inviting compared to the tangible shadows of the Underdark.

As Zhiri stared off at the moon, a vision crossed her mind’s eye. She saw a flash of ocean roiling under a stormy sky. A pale face with frightened eyes wordlessly pleaded with her as the waves overtook it. Icy water burble up around her and engulfed her body before a disembodied hand grabbed her.

Snapping out of her trance, Zhiri inhaled deeply. She stepped one bare foot onto the bulwark, steadying herself with her hand. She lifted herself up onto the rail, her tail curling as an anchor around the rigging. Spreading her arms, she leaned out over the water, all her weight supported by her strong tail. It made her feel as if she were flying.

The sea rushed by below. Snarling water crashed against the broad side of the ship, spitting white foam at her. She loosened her grip, just a little, and leaned further out. The wood under her feet was slick with sea mist. One little slip would throw her into the ocean’s awaiting embrace.

She loosened her tail a little more, leaning still further over the edge until a strong hand wrapped around her forearm, startling her from her daze.

“What are you doing out here, little Miss Zhiri?” Azruk asked with a curling snarl to his words.

Zhiri frowned and tried to pull her arm back, but his tight grip was unrelenting and immovable.

“You aren’t thinking of jumping, are you?” he asked, his words carrying a tone of warning.

“What’s it matter if I was?” she replied quickly, searching his eyes for the meaning of his concern.

“The waters here are fickle and deadly. Sharp rocks hide under the surface, sure to impale any who fall in. If, by some miracle, you were to survive the rocks, the cold would finish you off in minutes. No one would jump in after you. Even Krug knows better than to risk the sea’s wrath.”

“A slave’s life means nothing. You gave me a few precious days of freedom, would you take that away from me now? For my own good?”

He released his grip slowly, reluctantly. Zhiri used her tail like a fishing pole to reel her body back towards the ship.

“I was just looking at the water,” she replied defensively.

“Come back inside,” Azruk said, offering her his hand.

Zhiri shook her head. “They don’t like me in there, I feel safer out here.”

Azruk, unused to being denied by anyone on his ship, quickly checked his rising anger and pressed it down into the pit of his stomach. Careful to speak with a calm and level voice he said, “How will they learn to like you if you don’t let them?” He laughed once, loudly. “Merdan’s suffered worse for his incessant flirting. I’m sure you’re not the first to rebuke his advances with a sharp and pointed object.”

Zhiri smiled ever-so slightly. Grasping his extended hand, she hopped down and landed on her heels with a painful sounding  _thud._

“You’ll need new shoes when we reach port,” Azruk observed as he linked his arm with Zhiri’s and made a show to escort her back into the dining hall.

The room had been completely transformed. The long table was missing and all of the benches were pushed in a cluttered pile in the corner. A trio composed of a three stringed violin, a cracked cello, and a wailing flute played a screeching tune that filled the small room and sent the sailors into a dancing frenzy.

The crew was neither graceful nor fluid but they danced with a fevered passion that was intense even to witness. Zhiri stepped a little close to Azruk, clinging to his sleeve as he pulled her into the fray.

The other dancers parted without stopping, making a small circle around the two. Azruk disentangled Zhiri from his arm, stood square to face her, and bowed shallowly with a wave of his hat.

Zhiri curtsied awkwardly and once again took the hand that Azruk offered her.

His fingers easily encompassed hers as he pulled Zhiri towards him then abruptly swung her around. She yipped in surprise as her arm extended, propelling her away from the captain. With another swift yank, he pulled her back. She hit his chest, dazed and confused, her feet stumbling awkwardly as they struggled to catch up.

Azruk laughed a deep and hearty laugh that Zhiri could feel echoing in the hollows of his chest.

“Do you not dance, my treasure?”

She shook her head, tossing her fluffy white hair.

Azruk smiled devilishly and replied, “Well, we better change that.”

“I- ah!” Zhiri started before Azruk took her other hand and swung her in a wide arc.

Her tail whipped out with the force, slapping the legs of the nearby dancers. She nearly gouged a nearby sailor with her horn as Azruk carelessly spun her around and around. Her head was reeling, her legs tangled, and her laughter ringing. Azruk was clearly pleased with himself as her guided her around the floor with simple ease.

By the time the song ended, Zhiri was panting.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and said, “I didn’t know dancing could be so fun, nor music so enjoyable.”

“Ready for more?” Azruk asked with a dark undertone to his voice.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, flashing him a toothy grin.

“Glad to hear it,” he murmured.

Suddenly his leather-hide hands were replaced by two slender white ones.

“Cookie, you dance too?” Zhiri asked as the makeshift band began a new song with a vigorous tempo.

“On occasion,” Raurief replied. “Come and I teach you. You are well suited, unlike these tail-less bastards.”

Raurief’s tufted tail gingerly brushed against Zhiri’s. She coiled her scaled appendage around Zhiri and locked hands with her. From the corner of her eye Zhiri noticed Azruk joining the band, a small viola in hand. As the music reached a crescendo, Raurief pulled Zhiri around the room in strangely geometric patterns.

They continued without rest, building speed off each other’s momentum. Raurief would snap Zhiri to the side and grab her back with a pull and twist of her tail. Every time Zhiri almost lost her balance, her tail was there to anchor her and stop her fall.

The song changed with the breathy note of a flute and Zhiri was passed onto her next partner. Shy at first, Zhiri quickly lost her inhibitions as the human pulled her into a rhythmic dance, beautiful in its simplicity.

“I’m Penny Clickattack!” shouted the curvy female. “I’ve seen you around the ship but I never had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Penny!”

“You said that twice,” Zhiri observed.

“Studies show that the more something is repeated, the more likely a person is to remember it!” Penny twittered excitedly. “Did you know that on average a person can think about four things at once? Personally, my record is eight. But I don’t want to brag. It was all part of an experiment I set up.”

“Are you a scientist or something?” Zhiri asked.

“An engineer if you want to be precise.”

“How’d you end up on a ship?”

“I wanted to see the world and Captain Bonechewer needed a technical supervisor. It worked out for both of us. I help him upgrade the ship with all sorts of fun gadgets. In return he pays me (sometimes) and I get to travel the world to work on my thesis!”

Penny was still talking when the song ended. She moved onto her next partner, continuing her train of thought without missing a beat of the conversation. The next dance was hosted by a new partner, a strange clunky waltz with Illikan, the looming half-goliath whose head just barely skimmed the ceiling.

Zhiri changed hands again, this time ending up in the arms of Merdan.

The transition was so smooth and seamless that it took Zhiri by surprise.

“Oh!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t worry, love,” Merdan chuckled. "It happens." He pecked Zhiri on the mouth just as the song ended.

“Alright alright,” Azruk butt in, stepping between Zhiri and Merdan. He pulled Zhiri towards him. “She’s mine now.”

The captain guided her hands onto his shoulders and pressed her against him with a firm hand on the small of her back. The music slowed and softened by a fraction. Azruk moved with a fluid and practiced step while Zhiri struggled against the foreign emotions rising in her chest. Azruk’s close proximity made her nervous but her fluttering heart was not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

He watched her inner struggle with a keen eye, finally asking, “Is there something on your mind?”

“Cookie told me that this is a pirate ship,” she stated.

He cocked a bemused eyebrow and said, “Did she now? Does this cause you some sort of moral dilemma?”

“No, on the contrary…I was… I was wondering if you steal more than gold? If perhaps…you’d be willing to steal…” Her sentence slowed, her words wavering and unsure. Zhiri’s head tilted, her gaze falling to the floor.

“What is it you are asking of me, Miss Zhiri?”

She looked up at him, her golden eyes round and fearful.

“Would you steal… a person?”

His shoulders tensed slightly under her touch and he replied, “I may be a pirate but I am no kidnapper.”

Zhiri swallowed. “What if this person were…” she trailed off.

“…a slave?” Azruk finished.

The corner of Zhiri’s mouth twitched. Tentatively she started, “I can’t go back. Not after tasting freedom. I want… to live my own life,” she started quietly. Then, drawing up her confidence she said, “I want to follow my destiny, make my own path. I’m tired of being beaten and whipped. Tired of being treated like a possession.”

“And you think I can give that to you?” he asked, slowly swaying in a clockwise circle around the room, stepping on feet and elbowing crewmen who wandered too close.

"Yes. I’ve seen the way you command the ship. Your crew respects you. They trust you with their lives. I want… to trust you with  _my_  life.”

Azruk’s mouth pulled into a cool and confident smile. “I am pleased to hear you say that.”

He stopped moving. Towering over Zhiri, he brushed his thumb lightly down the side of her face, tracing the white lines that skimmed over her cheeks.

“Do you know who Sehanine is, Miss Zhiri?”

“Sehanine? The goddess of the moon?” she replied, unaware that the music had ended and the crew was clearing out.

He lowered his hand and said, “The moon, rogues, and trickery- my goddess. I don’t believe our meeting was chance. I think fate brought you to me. These marks on your face were not put there by your masters. These are blessings of the goddess.”

Zhiri’s brow furrowed. “Why would I be touched by a goddess?”

His smile twisted into something mischievous.

“That, little Zhiri, remains to be seen.”


	7. Chapter 7

A full moon poured down its silver light to shine upon the deck of the  _Lost Innocence_ , but Malkazir did not need the light to see; his eyes no longer saw the material world. As officer of the watch, he was making his usual rounds of the sleeping ship when a faint voice caught his long ear. Sleek as the shadows, Malkazir moved to discover the source.

Down below decks, a pair of drow were whispering. Their fluid elven speech was smooth and deceptively soft. Malkazir instantly recognized it as the language of secrets. He crept closer, keeping to the shadows. He was carefully poised on silent toes, ready to spring into the darkness should he be detected.

“Sangria does not know,” said one distinctly male voice. “She supports the matriarchy. My guess is that she hopes these menial tasks will gain her some footing within the council.”

“It is a shame,” replied the other man. “She would have made a powerful ally. Nerok could have used her.”

His partner sneered, “I think this is about more than what Nerok could use. If he does not kill her with the rest of the council, she will be left without a house to serve. She’ll need someone to look after her, huh?”

“Bugger off, I didn’t mean it like-” his words were cut short as Malkazir slid from the shadows and pressed a dagger into the drow’s back. Sharp and smooth, the poor man almost didn’t feel it as it punctured his lung. The drow coughed and sputtered, his friend standing frozen in disbelief.

“Y-you killed him!”

“No,” Malkazir replied, wiping the blood from the blade. “He fell overboard. There’s a storm brewing. Accidents happen.”

“You can’t do that to us,” the drow growled. “We’re under Sangria’s protection. She is acting under direct authority of the Outcast House!”

Malkazir stepped forward, corning the smaller drow. He hissed through his scarf, “It seems to me that she’s the one needing protection. I think I’ve done her a favor.”

The body on the floor convulsed once and grew still. A puddle of crimson blood began to leak into the floorboards.

“Now, if you want to live you will begin by telling me some things.”

He brandished the knife and ran it lightly over the drow’s neck. The black skin parted with a thin red line.

“Who is Nerok and why does he want the Council dead?”

“You should understand as well as anyone,” the drow snapped. “Nerok is a wealthy merchant. He’s got money, influence, and grit. The women have been running the House for too long. I’m sick of being stepped on by their pointed heels, aren’t you?”

“I take orders from my captain alone.”

The drow’s words stuttered and faltered. “Nerok wants to end this matriarchy and bring the men to power. It’s different up here on the surface. We don’t have to live in fear anymore.”

“There is always something to fear,” Malkazir chuckled humorlessly. He pulled the knife up, its metal blade glinting ominously in the moonlight.

“W-wait, you said if I talked you wouldn’t kill me!” the drow protested.

“No,” Malkazir corrected. “I said you’d talk if you wanted to live. I never said you would live if you talked.”

He sliced the blade across the drow’s neck, grabbed him by his long silver hair, and pulled his head back. The drow flailed a moment and grew limp. Malkazir lifted the deadweight onto his shoulder and carried the body on deck. He tossed the corpse overboard then returned for the second.

“What a trial,” he grumbled. “Still, this may be something the captain should know about.”

 

 

 ****“What is this mess you are having made?” Raurief snapped in her broken common.

Zhiri rolled over in her hammock, set up by the dragonborn in the highest corner of the galley.

“Come and see,” she replied, twirling the charcoal stick between her blackened fingers.

Raurief peered at the dark lines scrawled across the wooden roof.

“Is that… me?” she asked hesitantly.

Zhiri laughed and replied, “Yes. It comes right off too, see?”

“Oh,” Raurief muttered disappointedly as Zhiri smudged her charcoal drawing off the wall. “Maybe these things are alright. No matters. Be getting out of bed now, you are having been there half a day.”

She poked at the lump Zhiri’s body made hanging in the hammock. Zhiri growled playfully and swung herself out of the bed.

“You are of high spirits today,” Raurief observed. “Stay out of trouble.”

Zhiri skipped from the galley, brushing her fingers lightly over the sword strapped to Raurief ‘s back.

“Good bye, Luna!” the sword called out gleefully. “What a delightful soul.”

“I hope you are knowing by now that she cannot hear you without a touching,” Raurief grumbled.

“Ah,” the sword sighed. “I know, I know. But it’s so nice to finally have someone to talk to. Someone who willingly talks back,” it added with a hint of spite.

“Do not be hissing at me,” Raurief warned. “It is you who got yourself in there.”

“My sweet,” it crooned. “Let’s not fight.”

“Who is fighting? I am only telling what is happened.”

A knock at the door cut their conversation short. Raurief’s pink eyes narrowed as she slithered towards the door and tore it open with the force of a gale. Her hard expression softened a fraction as she welcomed the captain inside.

“Azruk, do come in. Are you arriving to steal sweet cakes again?”

Azruk stepped into the galley with a weighty stride. His heavy brow shadowed his eyes, his mouth pulled into a thin line. He shifted his coat on his shoulders, further ripping the seams torn around his broad muscles. Malkazir swept into the room behind him like a quiet gust of wind.

“Captain _and_  first mate,” Raurief noted. “Something is trouble.”

Malkazir closed the door behind him.

Azruk nodded gravely and said, “My carefully laid plans seem to be rapidly unwinding. One day of shore leave is all we can afford the crew. I need you to restock our supplies quickly. Once my plan is set in motion we won’t be able to return to Sassarine. I don’t know how long it will be before we can dock again.”

“I am understanding. But there is more to your visit than easy orders, I sense.”

“The captain no longer wishes to fulfill his contract with the Outcast drow,” Malkazir said, his voice low and muffled. “I have advised against it, but the captain is determined to keep the little slave girl for himself. I would like your opinion on the matter. Perhaps if he will not listen to reason, he will listen to you.”

Raurief’s sword, which had been intently listening up to this point, spoke to her mind, “Raurief, Cookie, darling, listen! I have seen into Luna's mind. To condemn her back to servitude would be a fate worse than death.”

Aloud Raurief said, “Keep her then. She can be to work for me in the galley.”

“Raurief, perhaps you do not understand the gravity of the situation,” Malkazir continued. “I have been read the manifest, I have heard the numbers. All of this cargo is a front. Were it to be lost at sea it would be no bigger a concern to the House than losing a penny on the street. The true reason for this expedition is to deliver the slave. I may not understand why, but I understand her worth to Nerok. To take her now would risk bringing down the full force of their wrath. Drow do not take kindly to broken contracts.”

“Contracts are paper and paper is easily torn,” Raurief said with a dismissive wave. “I can be killing drow as easily as I kill another. I am seeing no issues.”

Azruk smirked triumphantly.

“I knew she would see it my way.”

Malkazir, not ready to give up, continued to protest, “Having such a valuable item onboard may draw the unwanted attention of other treasure seekers. If you do not fear the drow, perhaps you fear the pirate king?”

“Legends and hogwash, all of that,” Azruk grunted.

“I find it unfathomable that you would risk all of our lives because you are sweet on some girl,” Malkazir snapped. “Take her to bed then be done with her. Save us all this grief.”

Raurief drew up close to Malkazir. She loomed over him, curving her long slender neck to look down upon him.

“I would not be speaking to the captain in such a manner if I were to be wearing your boots,” she warned, her razor sharp teeth flashing as she enunciated each word.

Malkazir stepped back, his expression hidden by the folds of scarf covering his face.

“I did not mean to offend, Captain,” he replied immediately.

Azruk clapped Malkazir on the shoulder.

“Malkazir,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Do you know why we do what we do? Is it for glory? For notoriety and fame? No…it’s for money. For cold, hard, gold. There is more to our little slave girl than a hefty price tag. She is harboring secrets. Secrets that I will uncover. Secrets that could make us the richest ship on the ocean. Tell me, Deadeye, does that not appeal to you?”

“Of course the idea of riches appeals to me, but I still feel this investment is too much of a risk. What happens if the girl won’t give up her secrets? What if she dies or runs away? How will you handle the drow retaliation?”

“All fine questions, Deadeye. And I assure you, they are all things I have considered. I will earn Miss Zhiri’s trust and in time I will learn what makes her special. She will not run.”

Azruk strut past Deadeye and opened the door. He called over his shoulder, “Thanks for the help, Cookie. Your advice is always a welcome relief in these trying matters.”

Malkazir slid through the door behind Azruk without a word in parting.

“What are you knowing about these things?” Raurief asked to the empty room.

“There is nothing in Luna's waking memory to suggest to me why the drow value her so greatly,” Baroen replied.

“I certainly hope Azruk is knowing what he does, or else maybe we will have to shed a little drow blood, ha?”

“Oh, sweet Raurief,” the sword twittered. “I love it when you get that murderous gleam in your eye, that taste for blood, that oh-so-wicked craving for death! This, my dear, is why I love you.”


	8. Chapter 8

The sea swelled as if the earth were inhaling a deep breath. The little ship rose with the motion and lingered for a moment at the height of the swell. As the ocean sighed and sank, the  _Lost Innocence_ plunged down the steep embankment of the wave. Sheets of sharp grey rain spit down from the sky and sloshed over the edges of the drenched ship. Miserable deckhands clambered up and over the rigging, pulling at the sails and fighting against the wind. Down below, the rest of the crew huddled together for warmth and comfort as they weathered the worst storm of the season. The entire ship groaned and rocked as the torrential flood continued to pour.

Azruk, alone in his study, was feeling restless. He chewed the end of his quill before jotting down a few notations on the sprawling map pinned down to his desk. Navigation tools slid off the edge of the desk as the ship gave another heave. This time he didn’t bother retrieving them. His mind was elsewhere.

Tapping the quill restlessly against his desk, Azruk splattered a few drops of ink over the map’s corner. Grunting, his smeared the ink away with his thumb. He pressed the tip to the parchment, intending to write something but the words fluttered from his mind like fickle butterflies.

He chewed the quill until the wood snapped.

Eventually he pulled himself up from his chair and shook the distractions from his mind. He glanced down to see if he’d managed to write anything of relevance only to find that he’d drawn a small stick figure with a wide smile and two curling horns.

A small smirk passed over his face as he decided to head down into the galley.

Raurief was fighting a losing battle against the cabinets. Pots and pans flew out and rang against the scuffed floor. She’d bolted a few in place, but the turning ship had loosened the nails and a new wave of kitchen hardware crashed over the countertops.

She swore out in her native language just as Azruk stepped into the room.

“Mind the knives!” she called out.

Azruk danced around the blades sliding over the floor.

“Oh, oh, I feel sick,” muttered the sword on her back.

“Hush, now. You have no stomach to heave,” she snapped, slamming away the strainer.

“What?” Azruk asked, nearly shouting over the sound of clanging metal.

“It is nothing, it is noting!” Raurief called over her shoulder. “I was not speaking at you. Have you brought Zhiri back? It is not safest in here.”

“Brought her back? I came here because I thought she was with you,” Azruk replied.

Raurief paused a moment to give him a worried look.

A sudden shout of “man overboard” made both of their stomachs sink.

Azruk tore from the galley and pounded up the stairs. He slid onto deck and was instantly blinded by the sleet rain. He threw up his hand to block the torrent and scanned the deck. The call went out again, each word striking Azruk’s heart like a bladed pendulum.

A crowd had gathered on the port side of the ship. Azruk shoved them all aside and leaned out over the water. A small pale hand flailed as it disappeared under the consuming waves.

“Who is it?” he demanded. Lashing out and grabbing the nearest sailor by the collar he roared, “Who's in the water?!”

“W-willy,” The sailor stammered.

The captain’s jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck straining like chords of rope as an unsettling mix of horror and relief churned his stomach.

There was a quick flash of movement to his right. He turned just in time to see Zhiri leap up onto the railing. In her hand she clutched a flotation ring and a length of rope. Her tail coiled around the rigging as she tore off the leather bodice Raurief had given her. She tossed it aside with an apologetic glance towards Azruk, then jumped into the water.

Instinctively Azruk’s hand darted out to grab her but the ship reared up and his fingers closed around thin air. Azruk’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the railing.

“Don’t just stand there,” he shouted. “Get some rope, toss anything that floats! Find me Illikan,  _now._ ”

The water’s icy chill felt like a thousand blades running down her arm. For a moment Zhiri flailed in the water before her body naturally righted itself and pulled her up towards the air. She broke the surface with a gasp of breath. Her time as a diver in the deep and narrow underdark caves had made her into a strong swimmer, but even she had difficulty fighting the storm.

The rain and salt water ran into her eyes and smeared her hair down over her face. The choppy waves made it nearly impossible to stay afloat, even with the ring clutched tightly under her arm. She squinted against the storm and saw a small hand floundering a few yards away. Zhiri drew in a deep breath and dove.

She popped up again, scouted the area, then dove, repeating the process until she found her quarry.

“Willy, I’m here! Grab on!” she shouted.

The small child was cold and frightened. He was clearly fatigued as he wrapped his little hands around her neck, clinging to her for dear life. The added weight of him made it harder for Zhiri to float. Her tail churned in rapid circle and she was quickly growing tired.

“Willy, listen to me,” she said calmly, trying to reassure the screaming child. “I need you to put this on. You’ll have to let go of me for just a moment. Understand? Can you do that?”

Her words were stolen by the wind and periodically cut short by a mouthful of water, but he nodded in agreement and allowed Zhiri to pop the flotation ring down over his head and extended arms.

“Don’t let go of this, okay?”

She wrapped her tail around the ring and kept Willy anchored to her.

The ship was making a wide arch. Barrels and crates bobbed in the water. Zhiri made for the nearest one. She clung to it for a minute, catching her breath and resting before moving to the next. A rogue wave crashed over her and tore the wood from her hands. The raging sea tossed Zhiri like a doll, but the storm was at an end and the rain no longer fell in biting sheets. By the time she made it near the ship she could no longer feel her legs below the knee. Her bony fingers felt fat and sluggish and she had a hard time clutching the crate.

Illikan the goliath was hanging off the side of the ship, anchored in place with rope and chain. He reached down as she ship passed by and plucked Zhiri and Willy from the water. With one arm he heaved them up and over the railing.

Zhiri hit the wooden deck and didn’t move right away. She coughed up what felt like gallons of ocean, each breath stinging her lungs and throat. Her mind was in a daze, her vision blurred by the salt and sand. Her ears were filled with water. Someone spoke to her in a muffled and garbled voice.

Azruk knelt and wrapped her tightly in a blanket. He lifted Zhiri’s limp body, cradling her quivering frame.

“She’s shivering,” Azruk said.

“It is good,” Raurief assured him.

“Willy, is he…?” Zhiri asked, her voice faint.

“Little boy is fine,” Raurief told her. “I will attend him. Azruk, you must be warming her. Take her to your cabin, I will be there in minutes. Do not let her fall sleeping.”

Nodding, Azruk replied gravely, “Deadeye, the deck is yours.”

He placed Zhiri delicately on the bed. Her wet clothes clung to her body, the white fabric all but transparent. Azruk tore his eyes away from her as Raurief entered the room.

“You will be catching the cold if you don’t get out of these wet clothings,” Raurief scolded him.

Azruk muttered under his breath and shrugged out of his jacket while Raurief worked to strip Zhiri of her soaking garments. She pulled back the bed sheets and tucked Zhiri in under the covers, placing a heated bed-warmer by her feet.

“Now you,” Raurief said flatly, pointing at the bed.

“What?” Azruk snapped back.

“Get in the bed with her. She must be warmed by your body, else she cannot be warmed at all.”

Azruk glanced down at Zhiri, his eyes following the curve of her body, knowing full well that she was naked under the sheets.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable with this.”

“If you will not, I find another who will,” Raurief snarled.

“Can’t you heat up a warm bath for her?” Azruk protested.

“Yes, but I have only energy enough for one. Then you must be cuddlings little child.”

Straitening up instantly, Azruk grit his teeth and hissed, “ _Fine._ I will do it.”

Reluctantly the captain pulled off his remaining clothes, down to his undergarments, and slipped into the bed behind Zhiri. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her icy body to his chest.

He sucked in a gasp of air through his clenched fangs and whispered, “She’s as cold as death.”

“Tiefling blood runs hot. With luck she will revive shortly. I must go. Little boy is of fragility and time runs against him.”

The curve of Zhiri’s body closely mirrored his own. He held her close, feeling her slowly warm and loosen. Her tail uncoiled and the color returned to her cheeks. Azruk watched her carefully, and noted when her breathing slowed and deepened.

“Zhiri,” he whispered hoarsely, placing his large hand on her shoulder.

Zhiri muttered and her eyes fluttered open for a brief moment before rolling back and sliding shut.

“Little Miss Zhiri,” he said again, shaking her a little more insistently.  

She made a small noise and shifted, pressing up against him. The touch of her bare skin was threatening to drive him mad, but Azruk remained stoically tense against temptation.

“You mustn’t fall asleep on me. That’s an order from your captain.”

“Hm? Wha… Azruk?” she mumbled, her soft voice laced with confusion.

“That’s right, I’ve got you. Safe and warm now.”

“Huh?” she breathed as her eyes popped open. A soft blush warmed Zhiri’s cheeks. She pulled her arms up to her chest, her tailing curling up behind her.

“hen... it wasn't a dream?” she gasped in disbelief. 

A coy smile slid across Azruk’s lips. “Did you dream of me, Miss Zhiri?”

“Azruk, we didn’t… did we?” she squeaked.

“What is it you think we’ve done?” he asked, delighting in the awkward flush that colored her cheeks.

“…Make love?” she whispered hesitantly.

 _Make love._ Azruk liked the way she said it, liked the blissful innocence of her soft voice. He could barely suppress his body’s affections for her.

“No,” he purred with a rumbling chuckle. “No, my little Miss Zhiri, I would want you wide awake were I to take you to bed with me.”

“Why am I naked then?”

“Because, my sweet, you dove into arctic waters. There was no other way to revive you. But my, you blush like a maiden,” he chuckled.

Defensively Zhiri snipped, “I’m not a maiden.”

“No?” Azruk asked, curiosity peaked.

Zhiri bit her lip and shifted her gaze away from him. After a moment she revealed, “Well no, not really. But no one’s ever taken me to bed with love in their heart... only lust in their veins.”

Azruk unwound his arms from around her as Zhiri twisted out of his grasp. He stepped from the bed and redressed casually. Zhiri’s eyes skimmed over the hard muscles of his back and the battle scarred arms that had held her so tenderly. The blush had yet to fade from Zhiri’s cheeks as Azruk spoke and startled her from her thoughts.

“I am not sure if was stupidity or bravery that sent you jumping off the side of my ship after that boy,” he said over his shoulder.

“Willy… is he… is he okay?” Zhiri asked hesitantly.

Azruk turned, his heavy brow casting his eyes in shadow.

After a moment of silence and a measured looked he replied, “You risked your life to save him. Even after I explicitly warned you about the dangers these waters hide. I want to know why. By all accounts, you should have both died.”

Zhiri shook her head, splattering the sheets with the water tossed from her hair.

“I don’t… I don’t know. I heard it, I felt it. I  _saw_ it. When I looked up at the moon last night I saw a vision of myself saving him.”

 _Divination?_ Azruk wondered.  _Is that the gift this girl hides? It is an uncommon feat, but by no means unheard of._

“I see,” he replied. “I’ll let Cookie know that you’re awake. She’ll bring you dry clothes and hot broth. I’ll see to it that no one bothers you in here until you feel ready to leave.”

“Azruk? Um… thank you. For everything,” Zhiri added meekly.

“Of course, Miss Zhiri. Stay warm.”

 

 


End file.
